Fallout
by Sanssong
Summary: Teyla tries to deal with what happened when John’s double passed himself off to her as John.  Spoilers for Season 4 Episodes!


"Morning sleepy head, I didn't think you were gonna make it out in time to eat."

She can hardly look at him without wanting to hide in shame and embarrassment. Images flood her mind unbidden, but unavoidable in his presence. She can no longer hold back feelings that lay dormant for three years.

"I… it would seem I neglected to set my waking device." Eyes averted, she moves quickly to put something- anything on her plate.

His arm brushes hers as he reaches for a coffee cup. Her reaction is immediate and intense. She remembers in vivid detail that arm holding her strong against his nude body.

She shivers, faltering back a step.

"Sorry, guess I'm not awake yet myself. Nightmares still…" he hesitates, "from… you know," he finishes lamely.

She looks up into his eyes, unable to resist the pain and guilt in his voice. Not smart.

A half smile with those lips. The same lips that called her name in the night, the same lips that make hers tingle as if they were still pressed against her. Passionate. Intimate.

She shakes her head as if to scatter the images. It does not help. The devastating want wells up strong and powerful, her body warms and liquefies in preparation for his. Only it was never him, not really.

She bows her head again to hide the shame.

"It was not you John," she says it more for herself than for him. She must never let him know.

"Yeah, well, try telling Lorne that." His anger propels him to the nearest table. His body slumps in defeat as he sits.

She ruthlessly forces the euphoric memory of his body inside of hers away, taking deep breaths she follows and sits facing him. "Major Lorne will be well. Col. Carter said he will be back on active duty in two weeks." She touches his hand where it rests next to his forgotten coffee cup. "It was not your fault"

The feel of his skin under hers sends arousal wending through her fingers to all the places he touched and caressed with those beautiful hands. He looks up at her as if in recognition, but the moment passes and he is looking to her for absolution. "Teyla…"

She pulls her hand away as the images rocketing through her mind become overwhelming. He misunderstands.

"Yeah, you're right." His withdrawal is palpable. "Well, eat up, Ronon is already waiting.

A hundred words well up inside her but they stick in her throat. He is at once the man who loved her, the man she loves; and he is not. Her mind knows difference- her heart does not.

He moves his chair and stands.

"John." She silently pleads for him to understand what she cannot say.

His face softens for an instant before the mask of indifference drops into place. "I know… maybe later."

Frustration laced with desire and sadness overwhelms her. She mourns for the man who came to her in the night, who awakened the love she'd tried to deny. She rages at the impossible situation she finds herself in.

He blames himself for the actions of another. He needs her to manage the guilt, to tell him, to comfort him as she's always done. Only this time, she cannot even manage her own.

She should have known it was not really him.

"Hey, Teyla!" He smiles, winded from tying to catch up with her.

She closes her eyes and braces for the assault of memory and feeling. Even after two months, she can still feel his body next to hers, his scent inhaled in each breath. She shudders involuntarily before turning to greet him.

"John." She slips, calling him by his given name for the first time since… "I… yes, what is it?" Her smile is too bright, her tone too cheerful for her own ears.

He smiles back with abandon in response to her momentary lapse. "We got back early, so I was thinking, maybe… you'd like to watch last week's game? Rodney hates football and Ronon doesn't really get it the way you do." He quickly prevaricates.

She continues to smile at him in spite of herself. He is her weakness. His is her world. With that thought, she shakes her head and makes herself say the words that will protect him for another day- perhaps longer. "I am sorry. I am very tired, Colonel and planned to retire early."

His face falls, he scrambles to recover. "Oh, sure, sorry." He looks away, she sees him struggle with himself for a moment before continuing. "Are you… are you feeling okay lately?"

She bites her lip to keep from telling all. How easy it would be to share her fears and heartache with him as she used to do. She is tired of keeping secrets, especially dangerous ones. Especially from him. Only the thought of his certain rejection stills her voice. "I am fine, Colonel. Just a little tired."

How much longer can she remain quiet she asks herself bitterly. There are some things that will not stay hidden forever. She will have to face his reaction sooner or later. In the interest of self preservation, she chooses later.

She has imagined his voice at her door so many times since that night that the real thing, when it comes, almost seems like fantasy. Like so many times in her dream she answers the door not once stopping to think about the consequences of letting the real John into her life and heart.

It is far too late for that.

He stands in her doorway his heart in his eyes. "I can't do this anymore." He steps in and the door closes behind him, a silent testament to the fact that there is no going back from here.

"John, what…." Part of her still wants to find a way out.

He doesn't let her finish, invading her personal space and then some.

The memory of his lips on hers surges strong in her heart and mind and she does not protest when his arms slide around her waist, pulling her to him.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" He whispers, his head resting on hers.

Her heart rate speeds. He knows. Thoughts whip through her mind in rapid succession. How, when, how long…what now…

"I waited… hoped you'd tell me." His eyes close in pain and guilt. She can't bear to see it anymore.

"I was ashamed." A single tear slides down her cheek. "I wanted it to be you."

"So did I."

His lips lower to hers in a tentative question.

The last vestiges of her resistance melt away at his touch. She circles his neck with her arms and kisses him back with hungry abandon. This is what she's been wanting, this is what she craved. John Sheppard in her arms, his lean frame touching hers, his desire for her pressing for entrance.

Before she can guide him to her bed, he pulls his lips from hers, resting his head against her forehead again. "Tell me he didn't hurt you… tell me he didn't make you hate me."

Another tear. She cups his face in her hand and her eyes meet his. "Can you tell me the same?"

He answers with a kiss, and then another and another till neither can remember the question.

She makes good on her earlier desire to take him to her bed, the result is fast and furious, a consequence of denial. His and hers.

Her heart rate finally slows; bliss mellows to contentment as his fingers graze her arm in a gentle rocking motion. She closes her eyes to enjoy the moment, knowing it cannot last.

She can't hold back the truth any longer, she owes him that. Funny how the why's and how's of him knowing in the first place no longer seem relevant and even though it will destroy the fragile bond they've just built, he has to know.

"John," she whispers in the darkness. "There is something you should know."

Fin


End file.
